Disclaimer: surely you know that Yuri! on Ice is Mitsurō Kubo's property

Credit: This fic is beta-read by rasclieboobear, Femslash Extraordinaire, & AzenaKira

Warnings: faux-historical AU sets in an imaginary world based mostly (but anachronistically) on early twentieth century West Europe Meets South Europe, cross-dressing

Victor Nikiforov's face settled into a smile as a passer-by accepted the last of the pamphlets from his hand. The man didn't crumple the paper into a ball and toss it on his way—which was a good start—but it was the quick movements of his eyebrows when he read the enclosed venue that confirmed his interest. Entertainment was highly sought as a relief during these times of war, after all.

Turning back to the camping ground, Victor wrapped his shawl tighter around his shoulders. The blustery wind chilled the bones of every traveler afoot that evenfall even though the Month of Frost wasn't supposed to arrive for another three weeks. While Victor originated from a northern country with more intemperate climate, he had toured around the world with the troupe for over a decade.

'I suppose wearing women's clothing has its merit,' Victor couldn't help but grin at the thought. He ducked under a low stone arch, skimming with utmost care so as not to splash water onto his dress by stepping in a puddle; he didn't welcome the prospect of scrubbing the stains with ice-cold water.

Belonging to a traveling ice circus troupe meant that every performer had to partake in the advertisements. Dominated by nubile males, performers had to draw lots to wear various guises to attract more than merely romance-hungry girls as their audience. The previous day, Victor'd had to spend half an hour in clown's make-up for the sole purpose of handing out the pamphlets in front of an elementary school, but today's allotment dictated him to dress up as a dame distributing handouts at the city arcade.

'Might as well get back now; Makkachin probably misses me already.' Victor imagined scratching the brown poodle behind her ear. 'Home sweet home.'

The pattering of Victor's low-heeled shoes against the cobblestones and the shadow of the buttresses overhead kept him company. Later, drawing nearer to the edge of the city, he was greeted by garbage and latrine odors from the trenches along the fog-obscured thoroughfares. The daylight began to fail, yet the faint glow of the nearest streetlamp was a good five hundred feet away. The demand for weapons and soldiers' rations didn't allow the government any spare funds for creature comforts.

A distant chant filled Victor's ears. Flooding the street ahead was the procession of pallbearers in drab cowls with a bier in their midst. They marched toward a lofty spired construction built of ancestral stone and embellished with rosette stained-glass windows. That had to be another war turned to a side street.

Twilight fell. The fog began to wisp away from the soot-like air, and he caught sight of a wick lantern projecting from an iron-wrought wall bracket. The signboard indicated that the building before him was a bar. He came to realize how parched his throat had become after over two hours of standing on the street with the pamphlets. Glancing at his pocket watch, he mused, 'Why not? There's still some time left before the show starts.'

The door looked like it had been kicked in one too many times, but it readily swung open to swallow him inside just as the jaws of hell would admit any sinner inside but clutched those who tried to leave. The one-room bar was designed to mimic a frigate, with wooden ceilings and floors as well as dusty pictures smothering its walls.

The reaction to a female figure's presence was immediate. Several visitors' eyes leered at Victor as he sauntered across the room, his wig trailing above his waist and his dress fluttering about his ankles. Although their hungry stares undressed him, this was nothing out of the ordinary; the mirror, several avid admirers, and random strangers had complimented his beauty on a daily basis. On the whole, he was fortunate enough that the soldiers' latest battle had been ten days ago and that they were stationed in a town, as opposed to a desert devoid of womankind. Upon encounter with crew of lonely men who had not seen the opposite sex in months, wolf-whistles were the least horrible treatment a girl could expect, and groping hands were far from being the worst.

Using a feminine voice he had honed, Victor placed an order whilst keeping his words succinct to lighten the strain on his throat. The typical "a good health to you" cheers and the clinks of glasses from the neighboring tables roused the thirst within him all the more, and he instinctively swallowed. Only then did he remember his Adam's apple's movements and probed his high collar to make sure that its fabric still covered most of his neck.

In the times of yore, there had been age restrictions for entering a bar. There used to be gender segregation, as well: women had their own quarters, known as "snugs," at the back of the premise. Victor was truly relieved that as of late, war had blurred the lines of decorum in exchange for practicality.

While waiting for his drink, Victor listened to the merry chats of the bar's visitors. It was no wonder that save for a handful of civilians, the premise was packed with a bevy of soldiers in fern green uniforms. Their country and its allies won the battle two days before—one win to be followed by God knew how many more battles to be won before the war truly ended. Four soldiers occupied a gateleg table behind him, solemnly drinking to their fallen comrades' memory. Those who took the table next to them were far more frolic in spirit, joyous to survive the bloody battlefield. The three drunken privates at the table to the left were slurring an off-keyed chorus of the recently popular song: a soldier nearly lost hope as he trudged through thick snow, carrying a cumbersome backpack and only the thought of his faithfully waiting fiancée spurred him to go on. Further back, a soldier placed his index finger in the numerical hole of a payphone, and then whirled the dial clockwise until his finger met the metal stopper.

Victor's long-awaited order arrived when the soldier vehemently exclaimed over the rotary dial phone, "Of course! I no longer pick carrots out of my meals, mom."

Victor took an impatient sip the moment the bartender presented his drink, relishing its fruity taste briefly wash over his tongue before he braved the scorch of the clear vodka as it went down his gullet. As Victor drank, a lanky soldier three tables away japed, "When you see three chicks eating lollipops, and the first is licking her candy, the second is sucking it, and the third is biting it, how do you know which one is married?"

"The one sucking her lollipop," the soldier with sideburns sitting opposite to him answered confidently.

"Nope," his companion replied, "It's actually the one wearing a wedding ring!"

All the soldiers on that table laughed heartily, except the one who gave out the wrong answer.

"Can't say I disagree with the way you're thinkin'." One of his mates gave him a brief pat on the shoulder.

The soldier with sideburns huffed and didn't bother to hide his indignant tone. "You may be good with words, but can you woo a real gal?"

"Of course! I'm the Casanova of my village."

"And I'd dated at least five girls before I was called up," another soldier added.

The soldier with sideburns bantered, "Hmph! Anyone can brag."

"Bring it on then! We'll find ourselves girls. The one who fails to get one will pay for all of our drinks."

"Deal."

That was how Victor came to find himself swarmed by suitors that evening. The flirting alone was downright tiring, as he had to strain his voice with each effort. When one of the soldiers placed a hand over his shoulder, Victor knew better than to linger. Flicking his fan, he put to good use years of dance practice to twirl away from them. With seductive gait, he stepped and swirled in search for quiet, mild-mannered prey. The bespectacled soldier sitting by himself at the corner seemed perfect.

The row of glasses in front of the man in question was enough telltales that he had drained enough alcohol to be wrapped around Victor's little finger. At this point, anyone would do as a stepping stone to flee from the suitors, but the young man on the edge of inebriety proved to be a better prize than Victor could ever hope for. He seemed four or five years below Victor's age. His sleek ebon hair contrasted enticingly with his complexion of smooth ivory, while his cheeks flushed up to the tip of his ears, making him all the more desirable.

"Hey," Victor invited himself to sit right next to the loner and addressed him in the common tongue, for his grasp of the local vernacular was barely enough to get by. If sound possessed corporeal tangibility, his well-practiced flirtatious voice would caress the shell of the stranger's ear. "Kiss me if I'm wrong, but the sun rises from the west, right?"

The soldier had the grace to choke on his drink before tilting his face upward to meet Victor's gaze. A spark of fascination ignited in his eyes and the blush blooming across his face turned a deeper shade of ruby. Fiddling with his fingers, he mumbled an indistinct sound.

"I can't hear you over this jumble of noises," Victor said, inclining his head at the indication for the peals of laughter, eager conversations, and the scraping of chairs in the background. "Shall we go somewhere else?"

The soldier stiffened. His trembling fingers adjusted his glasses even though they weren't lopsided at all. Eventually, running out of excuses to stall for time, he nodded, although not without hesitation.

"Good." Victor took the soldier's arm and walked arm-in-arm with him until they reached the exit.

When they emerged outside, the sky had turned a dusky indigo bespeckled with diamond-like stars and the windows from every household were aglow with amber lights. Together, they sauntered past the many arches of an ancient aqueduct, the cool eventide air caressing their faces.

Victor didn't mind their height difference even though his date partner in proper masculine attire was shorter than himself in frilly gown. The bespectacled soldier kept staring at him so yearningly whenever he assumed Victor wasn't looking at his direction. The moment their eyes met, the shy admirer would immediately become interested in the pebbles on the ground or the leaves in the trees. With every step they took, it was obvious that this man was as naïve as a babe when it came to trysts.

"Do I have the honor of being the first girl you've ever dallied with?" Victor queried.

"How do you know?" the black-haired soldier squeaked, his voice as meek as his appearance, accent indeterminate, although Victor could guess that the speaker originated from the Far East based on his ethnicity.

"I can tell you're nervous." Victor tapped the side of the soldier's arm in confirmation of how the shorter man's nerves were strung in anxious knots. "It's obvious in the way you're moving: stiffly, almost like a machine."

"Oh, this is so embarrassing! I shouldn't … I mean … well, I … um … uh…"

"I can let go of your arm if you feel uncomfortable."

"Y-yes, please."

This the soldier answered with a bashful demeanor—one that sufficed to make Victor evaluate his initial thought of abandoning the soldier midway. With a smirk upon his lips, Victor scooted closer and whispered in the soldier's ear, "But you'll have to kiss me in return."

With a horrified expression, the soldier retreated two steps back. "I … I … I want to kiss only someone I love!"

'Wow! A soldier like that really exists?' Victor asked himself without letting any skepticism surface on his face. "Hmm, a romantic sort of lover? Exactly my type." He winked. "A pity that I'm not yours, though."

The soldier squeaked before Victor could even close his mouth, face flustered, "It's not that you aren't my type! Far from it! You're …" He took a sharp intake of breath, and spoke more slowly, "You look a lot like someone I've admired for years. But when I love someone, I don't want that person to be just a replacement for someone else. True, I was entranced by your beauty, and I'm sorry if my conducts have caused misunderstanding. I … uh…" He bit his upper lip briefly before resolving, "It may be better if we part ways here."

The soldier ended his explanation with a deep bow. He was adorable. So cute. Victor couldn't resist the temptation to tease him for a bit longer. He wanted to see if he could make crimson dust the shorter man's cheeks once more despite not knowing how long he could keep this up. With each word, he could feel his throat straining. "Ho? As soon as I get home, I'd better ask mother whether I have a long-lost twin sister."

Victor noticed the soldier clench his fists, as if summoning courage, before correcting, "Brother. The one I admire is male. I mean, I'm not romantically interested in him. I've never even spoken to him. It's just that …"

Victor blinked, mouth poised to shoot more inquiries, but the soldier blurted, "Victor Nikiforov is truly awe-inspiring! I wish I could skate like him!"

Victor's stomach gave a jolt. His fans were too numerous to be counted, yet none ever mentioned his name with a tone like this. The voice belonging to the man only inches apart from him sounded so reverent he might as well worship a living god. Could a mere figure skater like Victor be blamed for being unable to suppress a shudder as he intoned, "Are you a figure skater yourself?"

The soldier shook his head, looking close to tears. "I wanted to be a professional skater, but I was too nervous during the test and failed."

Victor was unsure if he imagined this, but something in the soldier's rueful timbre indicated a hidden sorrow deeper than a mere test failure. Consoling the distressed had never been a forte of his, so he could only suggest, "You can always retake tests, can't you?"

"I no longer have the right to after …" Misery surfaced on the soldier's expression and his shoulders noticeably drooped. He cast his gaze at the swirling fallen leaves dancing in the wind, albeit not before Victor had caught a glimpse of those brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

The soldier continued, "My hometown is too insignificant for such a prestigious ice skating test, so I had to take it in the capital. My parents and sister gave me their full support even though I selfishly left them during such a busy time. They used to run a hot spring inn that went understaffed during holiday seasons. When I got home from the trip, everything within a fifty-mile radius from my house had been earthed by bombs. If … if only I had stayed with my family back then…" He clasped his hand in front of his mouth, muffling his voice through quivering fingers. "I don't even know why I'm telling a stranger about all this!"

"Do you really think with your family and neighbors would have wanted you to die with them?!" Victor did not mean to shout, but the painful memory of the men in his own village lining up for execution replayed in his mind. His father collapsed from a bullet shot, right next to him, while the enemy soldiers sneered when he pleaded them to spare his children. "Those who fell in war would wish more than anything that their loved ones survive and live happily. Stop torturing yourself with guilt!"

Nevertheless, Victor's words did not seem to reach the hapless soldier, whose gaze remained distant and hollow. As the masqueraded circus performer glanced at the starry firmament above, tendrils of an idea began to weave inside his head. He faked a sigh, "A-ah, my date plan is ruined now, thanks to you."

The soldier bowed deeply again, uttering a stream of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" This time, two fat tears splashed against the cobblestones.

"Apologies alone won't be enough. You owe me a dance."

The soldier gaped in disbelief, tears ceasing to flow from his eyes. "Um … here? Now? With no music?"

Victor put his palm next to his ear in pretense of hearing some unearthly tune. "Ah, what an enchanting melody! The fairies must be playing it." He offered no more words, proceeding instead with the most winsome smile he could conjure.

The soldier arched his eyebrow at first, but his confusion gradually melded into a mirroring smile. Playing along with Victor's whim, he wiped the last of his tears with the back his hand. "A wonderful song indeed. Miss, may I have this dance?"

Victor tipped back his torso and spread his arms. "With pleasure."

As soon as his dance partner's left hand and his offered right hand were joined in an upper-hand clasp, Victor started counting the slow, slow, quick, quick rhythm in his head. Although it was customary for the male to lead a dance, Victor wanted to test how far this meek-looking soldier would bend to his will. He took a step back with his right foot, followed by another step back with his right, and then a sidestep.

If the soldier found it odd for a female's hands to be larger than his own, he made no fuss about it. Instead, the black-haired man tentatively asked, "Foxtrot?"

Victor nodded without pausing. It took only seconds for them to synchronize their steps. While his partner's left turn was smoother than what Victor had expected and his contra-body movement was flawless, it remained a wonder that the rise and fall of their chasse looked so harmonious. Judging by the level of continuity in their movements, this was not at all the dance of two strangers.

It verified intense dedication.

Just how many years had this man studied him, analyzing his expression, style, and even decision-making tendency?

After the promenade position, Victor twirled away and stood four feet apart from the soldier. There, he performed the paso doble chasses, stomping crisply from side to side while flapping his skirt and issuing a look of challenge at his partner.

The soldier's surprise for the impulsive transition was immediately ousted by a smile tugging his mouth. His tongue tantalizingly traced his upper lip as if savoring sweet innocence. The seductive gleam in his eyes avowed that this very predator would pounce on his prey. His hips were canted at a delicious angle. His legs strategically positioned themselves to pronounce the contour of his nefarious body. Gone was the goody-two-shoes Victor had encountered seconds prior. In his place, stood a conquistador ready to captivate every bystander's heart.

The soldier adjusted his stance into an erect posture with his abdomen held in, weight over the balls of his feet, hips forward, and ribcage lifted to elongate the spine and depict the prideful stance worthy of Victor's challenge. Then his body swirled to chase Victor in a series of fluid movements—a mixture of ball room dance spins and ballet pirouettes—until finally he arrived at the spot Victor was standing.

He attempted to secure Victor's waist, but Victor dodged him and, immediately understanding what Victor actually wanted, the soldier pursued him again in smooth sways of banderillas. Together they danced the steps of passion and flirtation. The soldier recaptured Victor possessively around the waist with one arm, while the other traveled seductively across Victor's rib cage. Then the Eros in Living Flesh stepped to the side with one hand wrapped firmly around Victor's waist and the other cradling the base of Victor neck, lowering him gently.

Victor responded by pushing his hips forward, transferring his weight onto his partner's closest foot, while lifting one of his own legs in the air. Nonetheless, as the soldier dipped him, Victor felt an unexpected jolt in the pit of his stomach. The ground vanished from beneath his feet; his knees buckled; and his hands were magnetically drawn to his partner's shoulders. In this man's embrace, Victor found himself in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind with a sensation akin to tides rising from the frothy sea in response to the moon's gravitation. It pulled Victor closer and closer to the alluring seducer…

No! This mustn't be!

Victor assumed the counter-promenade position, followed by traveling spins. Again, the soldier held him with an amalgamation of perfection and impeccable timing. Not even his colleagues of rising stars with inordinate talents at the circus could fully cater to Victor's caprice, but this soldier synchronized their movements like he had been born to do it.

After a few fregolina, twist turn, and coup de pique later, the two of them closed their dance. With breath bated and forehead nearly touching the soldier's, Victor wondered what it would take to seize Yuuri's lips. To divert his mind from the forbidden fruit, he remarked, "I believe I haven't made the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr. Soldier."

"It's Katsuki Yuuri, but…" He gulped, a troubled look emerging upon his countenance. "…I'm not a soldier. Look, I didn't even pass the military tests. And … well, I'm quite used to helping out at my parents' inn, so I run some errands for those who properly fight for this country."

Noticing dejection in the so-called Yuuri's expression, Victor spontaneously reached out for the shorter man's cheek and brushed his fingers across it. What would he give to toss his wig and announce his true identity right then and there!

However, sudden notions burst through the guarded door of his mind, forcing his mind to grapple with dreadful possibilities. What if Yuuri assumed that Victor disguised himself as a woman because he liked it? What if Victor the Skater whom Yuuri had admired turned into Victor the Queer whom Yuuri would shun?

A voice in the back of Victor's head screamed, 'This is wrong!' and guilt weighed on his very heart even as he spoke, "You may call me Victoria. I adore a sweet and unpretentious man like you, Yuuri."

Thunder echoed across the now-cloudy sky, and Victor saw this as his cue to end their wonderful little tryst. "Will you escort me home?"

"Yes," Yuuri answered, and then, as he caught a glimpse of Victor's expectant expression, he finally realized that word wouldn't weigh as much as action; there was a role he was supposed to take in accordance to gentlemanly demeanor. "O-Of course."

The fact that Yuuri even offered his arm while blushing profusely brought a smile upon Victor's face. Arm-in-arm, they crossed a stone arch bridge that assumed a bister hue, except for a small wheat-colored portion, where the lamplight cast its illumination. Although the drizzles of rain soon compelled their amble to break into a run, Victor had never felt this much bliss during his twenty-seven years. He had been neglecting Life and Love for skating's sake. Now, the presence of one Katsuki Yuuri deemed it impossible for him to persist with that routine.

It was late in the evening when they arrived on the circus ground, where the milky moon shone like a glowing disc in the celestial dome, radiating its silvery beams upon the rain-moistened grass. The marquee dome rose like a gigantic chess piece in the distance, bedecked with streaks of multicolored pennant banners. Mouth-watering aroma from cotton candy, choco-banana, hot dog, and candy apple stalls scented the air. At any other times, this was Victor's home. A bunch of figure skaters, coaches and stagehands with no blood-relation would welcome him no less warmly than his real family would have done…

…if only his parents and sister had survived the open fire that dreadful dusk fifteen years prior.

That night, with every step closer, the more wrenched Victor's guts became with the imminent parting from a mere stranger.

"Yuuri." Victor made a sudden twist so that his body now faced Yuuri's, both hands clasping the shorter man's. "There's something I want to show you. Will you wait here for a moment?"

As soon as Yuuri nodded, Victor turned to his heels. He slipped through the hustle and bustle of the circus-goers, heading straight to the ticket booth. There, he acquired a V.I.P. ticket for the first row seat. Celestino, who was on ticket duty that evening, gave him a wink. "For you to bring a visitor with special treatment… Wow, I'd better make sure we have plenty of vodka to toast with!"

'That is, if he's willing to stay that long.' Victor smiled and gratefully accepted the ticket.

"Unfair! You didn't prepare any toast when I brought my family to watch my performance," Phichit protested from a neighboring booth as he handed two tickets and the change for a middle-aged man bringing his son.

"You were, what, twelve at that time?" Mila, who was selling balloons nearby, laughed good-naturedly.

Panic bled through Victor's veins as he presented the single ticket and was met Yuuri's puzzled expression. Nevertheless, even with every single cell within his body anguishing for the separation that was soon to come, he had to shake his head when Yuuri asked, "You aren't going to watch the ice circus with me?"

Fright filled Victor and expanded inside him. As gingerly as a devoted librarian would handle an extremely frail and battered book of historical values, he brought Yuuri's hand to his lips. Tenderly, longingly, he kissed Yuuri's slender fingers. "Keep your eyes on me."

Giving Yuuri no opportunity to question him further, Victor rushed backstage via a utility entrance. Standing akimbo, Yakov barked at him, "Where have you been?!"

A toothy grin and a sing-song "sorry" were all the response he gave as he swished past his aged coach. He could still hear the balding man fuming as he headed to the staff dressing room, but he knew Yakov wouldn't stay angry for long—not with him, anyway.

Shortly after Victor retrieved his costume from the dressing room, he peeked from the stage curtain. For a moment, darkness swallowed the audience whole. Then a single spotlight illuminated the center of the ice rink amphitheater, where J.J. had just glided under the cover of darkness. He greeted the audience with his signature pose—crossing his arms in front his chest with index fingers pointing upward—before a loud cheer broke forth from the crowd, particularly the unmarried women.

Victor tried to locate Yuuri, but he heard another roar from Yakov, "What are you waiting for? Get ready this instant!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Circus! on Ice proudly presents Magical Icescapade," Victor heard J.J. announce from atop his unicycle. He knew J.J. would soon toss the unicycle and skate flamboyantly, but now he had to gather all the magic props he needed.

By the time Victor finished changing into his first costume, Otabek was entertaining the audience with a sword dance. The projection show transformed the ice on stage to appear as rippling dunes striped with shadowy folds of sand. Circling an artificial bonfire—made of fan-blown paper and orange stage lighting—to the pulsing drumbeat, the warrior twirled his blades in a superb acrobatic display that grew in fervor until the evening was ablaze with lambent tongues of flame. The dance was a lethal ballet of ancient skill honed through generations to preserve the desert legacy. After juggling seven blades with incredible dexterity, Otabek threw them at the dartboard around Yuri Plisetsky, missing him by deliberate millimeters. Applause thundered through the marquee.

After bowing to the audience, Otabek disappeared behind the proscenium, while Yuri remained on stage. Victor couldn't help but imagine how would Yuri react when he met Yuuri. The fifteen-year-old skater would probably stomp his foot indignantly while his index finger posed an accusatory point at the older Yuuri "Name thief!" Victor chuckled at the thought of it.

Despite being the youngest performer in the troupe, Yuri's performance was by no means the most inferior. In fact, Yakov had seen potential in him that one day would exceed Victor's. The projection show shifted from arid desert to enchanting woodland so that Yuri, in his fairy costume, was standing amid eldritchly glowing shrubs and grasses with taller trees in the backgrounds. The lighting effect also bestowed him fairy dust that trailed from his limbs each time he moved.

"Victor, a word."

'Oops. That tone can only mean trouble.' Victor braced himself as Yakov approached from behind.

"You aren't yourself this evening," the old coach intoned.

Victor laughed. "Have I switched bodies with Leo now? Or is it Michele?"

"Something's off, and you know it." Ignoring his disciple's joke, Yakov asked with a stare intense enough to bore holes onto the younger man, "What is it, Vitya?"

'Ah, that pet name again.' Whenever "Vitya" surfaced from Yakov's mouth, Victor found it difficult to forget the day that inured chap saved Victor's twelve-years-old self from an icy lake in the North Country as he tried to drown himself after the enemy troop massacred his family and many others, shortly after raping the women of the village, including his mother and sister. Yakov had taken Victor under his wing ever since. Putting to good use the education the boy had acquired from his ballroom-dancer parents, the coach added elements that boosted Victor's skills and helped him grow into a world-famous ice skater.

Victor's shoulders drooped. He took a deep breath and spoke, "Actually, I'd like to recommend a new member for our troupe. I haven't asked him yet, but his skills are real. I hope you're willing to see him after tonight's show."

"That's all?" Yakov threw both arms in the air. "I thought you were hiding a sprain or an injury, for heaven's sake!" He exhaled and added, "Yes, yes, just get him to the rink later. Now go. Charm the audience!" He ruffled Victor's hair briefly before handing him the robot mask.

Victor accepted it with a sheepish grin. Then he, along with Otabek, Chris, and J.J., glided to the stage in his chrome-colored robotic mascot costume.

The stage was bathed in darkness once more, leaving only the dots of fairy glows, with their golden color transmuted into silvery stars. When light was restored, the backdrop became midnight blue to fit the futuristic theme Emil was about to perform. Victor and the other three robots stood apart like inanimate objects. They were to wait for Emil to finish a quad lutz jump before pushing the button on them, one by one. The performance was meant to be comic relief, starting with Emil's clumsy endeavor to find a wrench in the many pockets of his cyberpunk costume after he failed to activate Chris.

The partly dysfunctional Robot J.J. moved stutteringly in the first half of the show. Gasoline-drunk Robot Victor swayed haphazardly and took a deliberate stumble with a ridiculous sound effect. Robot Otabek refused to be in motion unless poked with a stick, so Professor Emil had to leave Chris repeatedly while tending to Otabek and, occasionally, other robots. When Robot Chris was activated at last, he kicked Emil's butt with a ballet stunt, gripped Emil in a ballroom dance promenade stance, and then tossed him in the air, eliciting stentorian applause from the audience the moment Emil landed from his triple axel jump.

Children were the ones enjoying Emil's performance most. However, much to Victor's relief, Yuuri was among the audience who clapped. Looking in the direction of a specific spectator unnoticed was one of the perks of wearing a sweat-drenching mascot costume that covered his whole body.

Emil's performance ended with him sliding onto the catwalk of ice protruding from the otherwise semicircular stage. However, unlike the case with his predecessors, all other cast members—save for the absent Crispino siblings who would perform their duet next—denied him the opportunity to exit the stage. Instead, they stormed together in Mafioso black suits to deprive the professor of his treasured robots. Emil rushed back to the semicircular part of the stage, but his resistance proved to be futile. Each Mafioso beat and punched him in turn and, in the end, Phichit pushed him to the dais at the back on Capo Georgi's order.

"Return those robots to him, you evil gang!" one of the little boys in the audience cried out, but was immediately hushed by his mother.

As soon as the Mafioso mob glided offstage, the semicircular dais rotated to reveal its other half, switching the scenery from the disconsolate and severely injured Professor Emil in his laboratory to the running Guang Hong with a cityscape backdrop.

Jumping off the dais onto the stage with a quad toe loop, Guang Hong earned himself loud applause quite early in the show. He continued with a brilliant sequence of jumps, flips, and spins all while dodging the pursuing Mafiosi. Once, he nearly fell from his mazurka, but quickly recovered as three Mafiosi blocked him from the audience's view. Then an unexpected ally, Leo, rushed to his best friend's aid. Leo mirror skated anti-clockwise, performing side-by-side elements in opposite rotational directions to Guang Hong's clockwise movements. The climax of Guang Hong's performance occurred when he took a bullet in order to save Leo's life.

The spectators' lament over Guang Hong's death was cut short, however, by the mesmerizing entrance of Michele and Sara Crispino. The backdrop changed into flowers blossoming around a glittering lake under the pastel-colored spring sky. The pair danced a serenade of platonic love, highlighting their performance with an impeccable twist lift, accurately synchronized side-by-side camel spins, and a throw triple salchow jump.

When Victor saw them like this, it was hard to imagine that Sara had barely recovered from her upset. A week prior, a fan threw her a bouquet with a card stuck amidst the flowers saying, "To Michele and Sara 'Borgia' Crispino" and Sara immediately hurled the gift to the trashcan in fury. Phichit, who failed to comprehend as to why the additional name agitated Sara, asked. It was Mila who explained that the particular surname was most notoriously associated with prominent figures who were also involved in sibling incest in the pair's country.

"Come on, Sara," her brother pleaded, "I'm no master of stratagems and you're no poison mistress. There's no way we should be compared to Cesare and Lucrezia! Plus, they lived centuries ago and they aren't twins like us!"

Inarguably, this brought little to no improvement for Sara's mood. She shut herself in her tent, threatening never to come out again unless the ringmaster approved that she'd skate single from then on. As Mila was the only female skater in the troupe aside from Sara, and Sara-Michele was the only pair skaters there, this would certainly deduct the plus points of the Circus! on Ice. On the whole, female skaters were a rarity, for it was considered to be disgraceful for a lady to bare her legs—with or without stockings—in the presence of male company.

"Sure, I'll pair up with Yuri in your place, just like I lifted him during practice the other day," Mila tried the teasing approach, which earned her a glare from Yakov.

It wasn't until a combination of pleas, persuasions, and threats involving the cutting of all desserts from Sara's meals that the sulking girl reemerged from her tent.

Presently, Sara and Michele's dance was nearing the end. They were engaged in a back outside death spiral. Michele stood in a pivot position, one toe anchored in the ice and hand holding his sister's hand, while Sara circled him on a deep edge with her body almost parallel to the ice. Victor knew that Michele would do anything to protect Sara, and Sara trusted him for this brotherly love (even though she could be vexed with his over-protectiveness sometimes). It was this foundation of unconditional love that made their death spiral poignantly emotional.

The robot as well as the Mafioso costumes had been stowed away now. The applause for the Crispino siblings became Seung-gil's cue to stand by the stage curtain, his dark necromancer costume in stark contrast to the Crispino pair's. A life-sized doll in a coffin was stationed at the other half of the semicircular dais, which would rotate to face the audience the moment the Crispino pair's turn was over. The rest of the cast, donned in ghoul costumes, would enter from the other side of the curtain. All except for Georgi, Victor, and Chris.

The stagehands rolled the flowery spring screen and unrolled one with the painting of a cemetery in the dead of the night. Seung-gil danced solo in a mournful lament for his mother's recent death. Ignoring the squeals of delight from the teenage girls who grew hysteric at the mere sight of him, he held the arm of the doll in the coffin and kissed its hand at one point. Then Georgi emerged from the other side of the curtain. In contrast to the tragic hero's near monotonous performance, the devil in black cape performed impressive scratch spins culminating with a death drop jump while bathed in multi-colored lights, all to impose his grandeur while persuading the devastated boy to come to his side. He promised power beyond measure in exchange for Seung-gil's soul, and the boy eventually agreed.

The moment Seung-gil tossed his mother's rosary aside, Georgi pointed at the boy, purple light shooting from the tip of his index fingers, and the stagehands released crimson mist around their feet using the combination of dry ice and stage lighting. Then Georgi retreated to the back, where the stage was dark, while Seung-gil tested his newly acquired power by pointing at the nearby tombstones. Each time he did, purple beam jetted forth from his hand, while a grave marker shifted to reveal a ghoul. With Leo, Guang Hong, Emil, Mila, Phichit, J.J., Otabek and Yuri in masked ghoul costume moving sluggishly around him, Seung-gil pointed at his mother's coffin. The stagehands pulled the piano strings attached to the life-sized marionette, elevating it from the coffin.

Looking aghast at his ghoul-turned mother, Seung-gil regretted his action. He put all ghouls to sleep once more and picked up his mother's rosary, praying for forgiveness. Victor the angel—draped in an entirely white costume with fake wings at the back, fake halo, and fake Santa Claus' beard—lowered from the ceiling with a piano string. As soon as the string was detached, he blessed the repenting boy, circling him while taking all the purple lights away from him and anointing him in white lights instead.

The devil glided forward to confront the angel. Their duel was expressed through shadow skating, save for the different endings: Victor's loop jump and Georgi's flip jump. More crimson mist filled the stage and swallowed the devil back to the jaws of hell. The angel glided away together with the glowing hologram of Seung-gil's haloed mother, while the kneeling boy watched them go with rosary in hand.

In the next performance, Chris wore gym shoes and a pale blue leotard. He entered on a Cyr wheel, grasping its stainless steel rim so that it rolled and spun gyroscopically while he performed acrobatic moves in and around the rotating wheel. He stopped only after he reached one of the two thirty-foot-high metal poles. There, he pole-walked in two circles, and then swayed his body so sensuously that he might as well perform the male equivalent of Salome's Dance of the Seven Veils. Although Chris' dance involved no actual veil or striptease, the erotic message was apparent with every spin and wiggle. Mothers shared troubled look upon their faces, torn between the desire to ogle at Chris' titillating curvature and censor his licentious movements for their young children's benefit—but lacked reason to do so, because Chris was essentially doing acrobats.

Next, the dancer climbed the pole, starting with a climb straddle. With each step up, he paused to demonstrate a different sultry pose. Oohs and ahs flooded the audience, particularly adult women. And when Chris parted his legs as far as they could go and the blue stage light made the contour of his crotch visible in greater detail, major swooning ensued. By the time he reached the trapeze platform on the upper part of the pole, a large portion of the female audience looked flustered but wild with anticipation.

Right before grabbing a trapeze, Chris winked at the direction of the ceiling; his lover was the very stagehand who was currently bathing him in blue light. "I told him to stop doing that," Victor heard Chris' coach grumble behind the curtain.

"The wink? Will the spectators be able to see it from their seats?" Victor asked.

Chris' coach shook his bald head, concern etched in his features. "It's not a matter of what the audience sees. He ought to concentrate more when he's about to perform a highly dangerous acrobatic move instead of getting sidetracked."

Victor chose wisely not to point out that a piano string was attached to every performer, and in Chris' case, his waist. Compared to his own coach, Chris' seemed like a living Buddha in terms of compassion; the man wouldn't censure anyone unless the issue was utmost vital.

After a couple of swings, Chris let go of the horizontal trapeze beam, pretending to slip so as to elicit screams from the audience. However, he landed safely only seconds later on the rope bridging two high poles and tightrope-walked. As soon as Chris reached the opposite platform, the stage lighting dimmed upon his person. In its place, three spotlights illuminated the newly-entering Yuri, Phichit, Leo, and Guang Hong. The four boys in masks and gym shoes shared a quadruple trapeze as they swung and performed acrobatic moves to buy enough time for Chris to come down the pole and don his skates unnoticed by the audience.

Once Chris achieved these purposes, the spotlight returned to him. His dance on ice was no less erotic than off ice. With a few suggestive movements here and there—especially when his fingers brushed his buttocks—he had incurred jealousy upon numerous boyfriends and husbands among the audience.

Then it became the girlfriends and wives' turn to get jealous in the next performance. Once Mila made her entry with bunny hop jumps, followed by a layback spin, the adult male audience was wolf-whistling, excited by the sight of feminine legs. Victor did not linger to watch his colleague this time; he needed to prepare the props for his own show.

Phichit nearly completed his merry zootopia dance when Victor finished. All cast—minus himself and Phichit the animal trainer with a plastic snake slung over his neck—wore animal costumes: Zebra Otabek, Giraffe Emil, Flamingo Sara, Rhinoceros Michele, Elephant Georgi, Chimpanzee Guang Hong, and Hippopotamus Seung-gil. The performance concluded with Tiger Yuri leaping through a ring of artificial fire similar to the one Otabek had used in his first dance.

As Yakov's first disciple and the most accomplished performer of Circus! on Ice, Victor was allotted the last and longest turn. It took all of his self-control not to steal a glance at the first row of the circus box seats to see Yuuri's expression or even to confirm if he had not left the show. 'Concentrate for now!'

Victor's opening sequence began with the tearing of a poster into shreds. Some of the audience, particularly young men and children, laughed because that poster contained a satirical illustration concerning the president of an enemy nation. When he folded those shreds back into an intact sheet of paper, most of the audience was impressed, but there were always a number of wolf-whistles about a well-hidden second poster. This was all well with him. It'd be much better for the audience to think they could outsmart him at first. Their present doubt would acquire him some degree of sympathy—the proof that the performer was a mere human rather than an intangible deity. In turn, this would heighten the surprise element at the enigma the spectators could not unravel in his subsequent tricks.

The magician's next performance involved outstanding dexterity. Still smiling, Victor proceeded to produce fire out of his gloved palm. The flame flared as soon as it touched the "restored" poster and consumed it in a great conflagration, bringing a formerly hidden smaller, crumpled piece of paper into plain view of the audience. The ice circus ace smoothed it, revealing it to be a hundred veadrom—the highest nominal value of the issued bank notes at the time. Applause flooded the marquee once more. Next, Victor disposed of the flame with a movement both fluid and swift, making it look as though it vanished. He peeled off his flameproof gloves and tossed them into a glass tube that opened on both ends. With a shake forward, he made them disappear so quickly that the audience had no time to process what happened until he held out the empty tube. More cheering ensued. Although some of the audience might have guessed the simple trick, none jeered at Victor. The gloves were actually hooked to a short piece of fishing line that ran up the magician sleeve behind his back and along his other arm. Hence, the fishing line was pulled tight, and the gloves disappeared into the magician's sleeve when he extended his arms.

Victor did a combination of a quadruple lutz and a triple flip, followed by a flying sit spin. This was the main distinction that put Circus! on Ice's show a cut above other circuses'. While other magicians pretended to wiggle their fingers in some hocus pocus hoax or required their assistants to dance exotically to distract audience and buy enough time to complete the tricks, Victor skated—gracefully at that. It was no surprise that at this point, some spectators hysterically screamed his name. How would they react if they were to know that the poster in the stunt earlier had been coated in special chemical that caused it to combust the moment the lambent tongues of flame licked it and that a separate paper bill had been hidden from the beginning?

Meanwhile, in the background, stagehands dressed in black took advantage of the dim stage and wheeled a small raised platform with a single chair on it. J.J. stepped in, wearing non-slippery gumboots rather than skates and carrying a guitar with him. Having climbed the stairs, he sat with an air of regality, a king claiming his rightful throne. As he began to pluck the instrument, a purple curtain streaked with gold lowered before him, blocking him from the audience's view. Victor performed a crossfoot spin, a triple lutz, and a Biellmann spin. The latest earned him murmurs of admiration, as this spin was performed by pulling the non-pivoting leg from behind up and over the head and holding the blade of the skate—a technique more suitable for females due to its demand of extreme skeletal flexibility in the shoulders, back, hips, and legs.

Only seconds later, the curtain was up again, and the audience saw an empty chair on top of the dais. J.J.'s singing, loud and clear, remained fully in the accompaniment of his guitar, yet the performer himself was nowhere visible. Some of J.J.'s avid fans in the audience cried in dismay at the sight of the empty chair. The curtain lowered once more, and when it was re-raised, J.J. was fully restored. Applause roared more stentorianly than ever.

Little did the spectators know that four burly stagehands were concealed behind the drapery. The platform was built on a rotating axle. As soon as the curtain was lowered, they pushed down on a steel rod welded to the back of the stage to rotate the sitting J.J. one-quarter turn horizontally until he was presently resting on his back. When the curtain was raised, the audience was looking at a duplicate chair, previously located beneath the platform and concealed by the stairs and the black cloth. The stagehands pushed the platform hosting the singing guitarist back in place just in time for the curtain to lower and reveal him.

J.J. stepped down from the dais. Following a transition of Victor's dance that involved a quadruple salchow among other feats, Sara ascended the stairs and sat on the chair in J.J.'s place. Emil and Michele entered the stage barefooted on stilts. They stopped right behind the platform where Sara was sitting. With the aid of stage lighting, lavender beam emerged from the tip of Victor's finger and illuminated Sara's right arm as if using his magical powers to infuse her with superhuman strength. Michele left his cane to step forth onto Sara's "magical" right arm. Victor did the same with her left for Emil.

Audible gasps buzzed through the capacious marquee. A man in the audience yelled, "I wouldn't want a bride like that!" Some other men laughed, but a woman shouted back, "At least ya ain't thick-skinned enough ter realize she's too good fer ya!"

In truth, the chair was made of welded steel painted to assume the appearance of wood. It was also bolted to the platform ground so it was irremovable. Although from the audience's point of view, Michele and Emil were climbing out onto her arms, the two men were actually standing on the stainless steel bars that extended from the back of the chair behind her arms. Each man kicked the button at the back of the chair to activate the bar on either side. This requires excellent balance and coordination, while Sara must keep her arms perfectly still to prevent the audience from noticing the chair's extensions.

Michele and Emil jumped agilely onto the platform, making sure they had stowed away the steel bars back inside the chair, before linking arms with Sara and bowing to the audience. The three of them were wheeled behind the stage curtain along with the dais.

During the transition to his next stunt, Victor added a touch of paso doble chasse to his skating, continuing it with his signature quadruple flip, triple toe loop, and combination spin. He wondered if Yuuri was still sitting among the audience and understood the wordless message.

Meanwhile, the stagehands had finished bringing heaps of crates, a bier, a portable spike torture chamber, and a guillotine to facilitate Victor in his death-defying escape series. Appearing in a masked executioner's costume, Georgi opened the spike torture chamber. It was roughly the size of a door, but opened and closed like a vertical sandwich instead. Its entire slab hosted waist-length stainless steel spikes. He impaled a melon onto the nearest spike, and then pulled the fruit, revealing its gaping hole and dripping juice to the full view of the audience.

As Victor positioned himself in the middle of the reopened chamber, J.J.'s sonorous voice boomed across the marquee—Victor's death-defying escape illusions were the only part of the show that involved a full emcee, "This looks like it could be painful. You see, that spike is sharp enough to cut cleanly through flesh and not tampered with."

Convinced that each spike was real, the audience watched in anxious silence as Georgi secured Victor's wrists with shackles welded to the wall of the chamber. Some younger children hid themselves in their mothers' bosoms; the older ones gripped their father's forearms. Two nuns on an upper tier made the Sign of the Cross. The machine was set in motion once the executioner pushed the button.

"The force of the spikes is enough to cause instant death," J.J. said, assuming the informative tone of a herald this time. Then his pitch rose drastically with each word, "We can see that the spikes are passing right through our magician's body and are coming out the front of the torture chain … puncture perfect!"

When Georgi had reopened the torture chamber and presented a key to undo the shackles, Victor shook his head and simply winked. He bared his teeth to show a pin between them, which he skillfully utilized to lock pick his shackles, although he made sure to remove the hinges first from an angle that the audience couldn't see. This he did in no more than ten seconds because without those hinges, the locked shackles proved to be as useless as their unlocked counterpart despite their deceptive appearance of restraining Victor's wrists. In fact, excluding the steel spikes on edges, the majority of spikes in the chamber were made of plastic painted with steel color. Their seemingly pointy tips retracted into the shafts once they came into contact with the softest pressure of human skin. As for the spikes that pierced the front of the chamber, they were actually planted into the wall and were connected to a contraption that would make them push out gradually whenever the chamber was closed, making it look as if Victor were being impaled.

"Here comes our dearest magician, strolling out like there's nothing to it! No hole in his belly; not a drop of blood on his skin. Isn't he amazing?"

As expected, the spectators burst into a loud cheer the moment Victor stepped out of the chamber. The magician smiled and made a tut-tut sign by wagging his finger to and fro. He performed a quadruple axel before proceeding to the next stunt.

"Now, having escaped death once, will our ice magician escape a second time?" J.J. spoke in a rehearsed taunt.

Georgi pushed a gurney with a single mannequin and parked it right below the perilous blade of the guillotine at the center of the stage. He pulled the raising rope, dropping the blade and chopping the mannequin into halves. While the executioner held out the severed mannequin pieces for the audience to see, Victor lay himself down on the presently vacant gurney, the guillotine blade glinting in the stage light. No matter how many thousand times he had done this trick before, that sight of the execution blade could never be comforting.

"Just to make sure that our 'patient' here doesn't go anywhere, his ankles are held in place by heavy-duty padlocks and his wrists, shackled to the table," J.J. explained to the audience when Georgi came over to Victor's side.

Matching Georgi's timing of pulling the rope, J.J. winced. "Ouch! That's gonna leave a mark—oh no! Down it goes!"

Georgi released the rope, and the blade dropped, slicing the magician's recumbent body as effortlessly as a knife through butter. A handful of spectators screamed.

At a glance, the space underneath the tabletop might seem hollow, but upon a closer inspection, it actually had a built-in compartment, painted black to camouflage it under the cover of darkness. When Victor laid himself, his hand pushed the button at the side of the gurney, unseen by the audience. This opened a trap door to the secret compartment, where he rested his midsection inside it, but kept the rest of his body on the tabletop. To make him appear lying flat, he had worn a specially designed form-fitting body cast made of fiberglass under the front of his costume. This false body had been pre-cut to allow the guillotine blade to pass right through it.

With another push of button, Victor also made a slate of steel slide underneath the fiberglass, acting as both a lid for the secret compartment containing his real stomach and a final shield should the guillotine go out of control. Ample ruffles under the costume's collar did a good job hiding the rigid slate. While the slate did cut across Victor's costume, the audience would later assume it was the guillotine that tore the fabric. The guillotine's height had been adjusted beforehand so that at the drop of its blade, it would cut only the area above the steel slate.

As the guillotine was raised once more and Victor remained unharmed, the audience stared in awe. Then a voice perforated the silence, "So, the rumors are true! He really is impervious to death!" Ear-splitting applauses followed.

"Our ice magician has cheated death not once, but twice. Is he going to do it a third time? In his last performance tonight—" J.J.'s words were interrupted by the audience's dismay, "Awww!" but the emcee continued, "He's going to survive that blazing inferno of getting cremated in a stainless steel incinerator with over three thousand degree Fahrenheit!"

Georgi pushed the wheeled bier to the front of the stage before restraining Victor's arms to a steel bar. The bar was hollowed out in two places—just enough to put the ice magician's wrists, which were also held in place by the ropes that looped through those apertures. Afterwards, the ropes were wrapped around his body and tied beneath his waist. The solid presence of the steel bar made it impossible for either hand to reach the rope knots. Georgi placed Victor inside a body bag and stored it in the coffin-shaped incinerator atop the bier.

"Excuse me for a moment, ladies and gents, I need to give our executioner a hand to close the lid. That's over two hundred pounds of solid steel." J.J. glided over.

After the lid was secured, Georgi ignited a torch, while J.J. spewing fire precautions to the audience just for the sake of buying time. J.J. commented with a dramatic flair, "And our executioner is back with a blaze of glory."

At J.J.'s words, Georgi waved the torch like the baton twirling attraction during a parade. Knocks resounded from the coffin-like incinerator behind the executioner even though its steel structure did not budge.

"It seems our magician is struggling inside. Let's hope this incinerator doesn't become his final resting place."

In reality, it was a clockwork mechanism that tapped the steel wall of the incinerator. The real Victor released himself by breaking apart the thin thread connecting the ropes that bound him, which had of course been manipulated to disentangle knots quickly. A hidden trigger was built into the incinerator's side, which would cause the secret panel to slide open the moment Georgi slammed the lid shut. A sheet of metal was slid into place, forming a beam bridge for the body bag with Victor inside to be transported from behind the incinerator. Naturally, the coffin-like structure blocked all the action from the audience.

Meanwhile, four stagehands who were hiding behind the heap of crates pulled the metal beam out of harm's way. Once the body bag was secured behind the scene, Victor emerged from the Velcro opening seamed in the back of the bag. A make-up artist was waiting for him with a container of soot she would soon dab lightly onto his face and clothes for a dramatic effect.

Some of the audience started screaming, others clapped their hands in front of their mouths, while the rest sat with tensed shoulders and stiff bodies as they held their breaths. The moment Georgi's torch lit up the incinerator and the flames filled the incinerator and burst out from under the lid, numerous children squeezed their eyes shut.

"Oh no!" J.J. gasped with another melodramatic tone. "What if our favorite magician is burned beyond recognition?" He whined, a palm covering his face, but eyes still peeking through the gaps between fingers, "I can't bear to see him burnt to a crisp…"

After the fire extinguished, the stagehands slid back the beam bridge so that Victor could crawl his way back behind the incinerator. Georgi and J.J. each used a crowbar to open the lid, as it had become too hot to be touched with bare hands. Covered by smoky stage effect, Victor stepped onto the bier, adjusting his body angle to look like he had just stepped out of the incinerating coffin rather than behind it.

"Look and behold! Our magician's a bit sooty, but at least not toasted. Ladies and gents, let's give him a cheer!"

The audience did give Victor a cheer loud enough to wake the dead. However, the cheer also came with foot stomps of encore demand. With each passing second, more and more spectators joined the strike.

'Well, this wouldn't be the first time.' Victor cast a meaningful glance with a tiny jerk of his head at the emcee. The message was clear among the troupe members: levitation trick.

"Ladies and gents, rejoice! In accordance to your behest, our soot-covered, but still charming magician will show one more trick up his sleeve tonight. Prepare yourselves to witness for a classic illusion of levitation not on one, but four persons! To ensure no strings attached, we request a volunteer from the audience to participate along with our staff."

Frantic hands shot in the air. Male and female, young and old, all seemed to be excited to be part of Victor's show.

J.J. asked, "Play Sevens, anyone?"

Some of the hands dropped.

"Let's see… Hmm, what about you?" J.J. pointed at a thin teenage boy at the middle tier.

The boy's face was a mishmash of disbelief and unadulterated joy when J.J. asked him to come to the stage.

J.J held out a hand to help the boy thread on the ice with walking shoes. "Whoa, whoa, slowly!" he gripped the boy's arm to prevent him from slipping beneath the jealous stare of his fan girls. "Slow and easy. There's a good lad!"

"S-Sorry. I normally can skate, but I'm nervous right now," the boy said timidly.

"A skater! Excellent! What's your name?"

"It's Kenjirou Minami, um … Your Majesty."

J.J. laughed aloud. "Now, now, Kenjirou. I know I sang the Theme of King J.J. earlier. That doesn't make me a blue-blooded descendant of a royalty, though. You can call me J.J."

All the while J.J. was engaging the audience, the stage curtain fell. It was not until the stagehands had finished putting away the crates and replaced them with new props that the curtain was raised again. Chris, Phichit, and Otabek came out to approach what seemed to be a square table supported by two stools in the middle of the stage. Victor, who had been waving and blowing kisses to the audience, now waved at the three performers.

"My friends, do you fancy playing Sevens in mid-air?" J.J. translated the wave for the audience's benefit.

The three of them nodded, and Victor glided behind the table. He removed the tablecloth to reveal that the table had all along been a mere board resting between a pair of stools. He gestured Chris to step up onto the stool on the left and Otabek the one on the right. The two sat cross-legged on opposite sides of the square board. Phichit joined in next. Minami looked worried in case the board wouldn't be able to sustain the combined weight of four, but Victor winked encouragingly, so the teenage boy obliged to climb onboard.

Chris fished out a deck of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle it. The stage light bathed Victor once more, giving out a visual effect that he was entrancing the board. Sure enough, it raised inch by gradual inch from knee-high to the waist-high as Chris distributed thirteen cards, face-down and one at a time, to each player going clockwise. In the meantime, J.J. took the stools out of the way.

Four arrayed sequences of cards were already placed on the board, one for each suit, when J.J. said, "Ladies and gents, before our magician levitates these four players, allow him to prove that the board isn't pulled upwards with wires."

Victor covered the board along with the four players on its top with the tablecloth he had pulled earlier.

"As you can see, the rise and fall of the cloth aren't interrupted by any wire," J.J pointed out at the silhouetted shape of the four players and the rimmed edges of the board.

Murmurs of agreement traveled among the audience.

"Now, our magician will elevate these men as high as he can go. See him defy gravitation further!"

Victor restored the four card players to view by removing the cloth once more. After tossing it to the side, he raised both arms, and the board, along with the card players, rose higher. When the board was chest-high, the spade and heart suits were still considerably sparse, but the other two had amassed quite a number. While trying to put one card onto the nearest suit, Phichit's card slipped from his fingers. Phichit's upper body bent to catch it before it reached the stage floor far below. However, instead of crumpling on the ice floor like a leaf falling out its tree, the ten of clubs floated quite close to Phichit's hand.

"Ooh, look at that!" J.J. threw in another melodramatic exclamation. "Our magician doesn't only lift the board and the players, but also the cards they play with … though he seems to be doing this only to certain card at will, given the rest of the cards are lying on the board."

The audience clapped in exhilaration for the umpteenth of time that night. Victor successfully "commanded" the board to float up until it was at his eye-level and then to float back down. J.J. returned the stools just in time to catch the board before it sank all the way to the ground. Needless to say, all the players hopped off the knee-high board unharmed. Minami was even allowed to keep the deck of card as a souvenir for his voluntary contribution on stage. Nobody in the audience spouted anything about the last trick.

The illusion had actually begun when the ice magician demonstrated that the board floated upon the removal of the stools. Hidden behind the board was a sturdy steel pole that could hold up the board plus a maximum of seven hundred pounds of burden. The magician would then stand next to the steel brace connecting the board and the pole, his body effectively hiding the pole from view. With the deliberate avoidance of stage light—courtesy of the troupe's reliable stagemen—the audience wouldn't even notice the pole camouflaged with the same "costume" as Victor's trousers. The pole itself concealed two buttons pushable with Victor's heel: the left for raising the board and the right for lowering it. Inside the pole, a hydraulic piston operated the extendable and retractable rod connected to the board, jacking it up or down without affecting the exterior pole's height. Naturally, as the bare steel rod behind Victor had to stay lower than his height to be properly concealed, it was not extended overhead. The stools were merely there for make-believe rather than true weight supports.

As for the floating card next to Phichit's hand, that particular card was actually attached to his right thumb by a flesh-colored plastic shell with the exact shape of a human thumb and a clear rubber suction cup attached to it. As long as Phichit's was thumb snugged inside this shell, it remained virtually invisible from the frontal view, as well as from Minami, who was seated directly opposite Phichit. With a little pantomime, it'd seem as if the card had floated next to Phichit's fingers instead of meeting one of those fingers at one point.

The curtain closed for the night at long last. As darkness filled the marquee, the music stopped, the last note on the gramophone sustained as a dying echo among the vacant space for several long seconds. Behind the stage, all skates were removed from the performers' tired feet. Most of the crew was noisily planning on how to celebrate their last night at the Gontreda Town, but Victor kept peeking from behind the stage curtain, eyes focusing on Yuuri's seat. Amid the rush of nearly a thousand spectators, his green-uniformed figure was nowhere to be found.

Victor's heart sank. Even after all of the spectators had exited, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Yuuri was no longer there. He reemerged to the empty stage in the equally empty marquee. Had the din of footsteps shuffling right outside always been this loud? He could even hear the wind whistling from a distance, eliciting a shriek from the tree-lined path that he and Yuuri had passed on the way here.

Yuuri had left.

Yuuri had forsaken him forever.

Victor looked upwards. The stage lights blared. At least that would give him a reason if tears suddenly started falling, right?

Then the flap of the marquee rustled and a slender, green-uniformed figure admitted himself. Instead of walking all the way down the aisles between the tiered seats, Yuuri stopped midway, as though unsure whether to turn back or to advance. He gazed at Victor with a disconcerting expression of bewilderment and discountenance; what exactly was going on in the depths of his unimaginable mind Victor could not fathom.

Finally, Victor found the willpower to approach the sole spectator. His trembling steps brought him to a halt only a few inches away before Yuuri's boots. He could hear his voice faltering as he greeted Yuuri, "I thought you left."

"I had to use the bathroom."

Victor opened his mouth again, wanting to explain, to apologize, to say anything that'd make Yuuri stay but failed to find the words he needed. Tongue-tied was a disease that had never visited him for many years, thanks to the countless fans constantly swarming around him. Even so, exceptions seemed to tail him like a shadow whenever Yuuri was around.

Out of Victor's expectation, it was Yuuri who spoke first. "You've never failed to surprise me. Ever since I first saw your skating, it's been an unending chain of surprises."

As Yuuri's palm brushed against his cheek in an ephemeral caress, Victor felt anticipation creeping into him. He was terribly, terribly anxious about the future. His. Yuuri's. Together.

The deep breaths he inhaled did nothing to soothe the fear oozing out of his pores. How should he propose the idea? If Yuuri objected, Victor's life would be akin to that of a lifeless marionette in loss of its puppeteer.

"And tonight you surprise me for a different reason," Yuuri spoke again.

"Yuuri—" Victor felt short of breath. His heartbeat stuttered as his slender fingers curled around Yuuri's shorter ones. Before him, brown eyes gazed, full of the radiance that Victor feared he might never see again. "Skate with me."

Yuuri blinked once. Twice. Finally he broke into a nervous smile. "Victor, that'd be my dream come true."

"Then you'll say yes?"

"I didn't bring my skates."

"I'll lend you mine."

Without waiting for further confirmation, Victor dashed backstage in such great haste, not minding that he had replaced his skates with ordinary shoes. He almost tripped over the ice and his forehead narrowly missed the proscenium wall as a result. Fortunately, he managed to complete a round-trip journey to his tent in less than ten minutes, out of breath and carrying all the skates he had owned during the last decade.

"Your size seems to be the same as mine five years ago, but to be safe, I also brought others." Victor handed over the pair of skates that he deemed most likely to fit Yuuri's feet.

The awe in Yuuri's expression and dreamlike trance in his tone as he accepted those skates and thanked Victor made Victor want to burn the scene into his memory. Would it be possible for him to stay immersed in this euphoria forever and ever? He couldn't help stealing a few glances at the gift from heaven beside him even as he was tying the laces of his own skates.

The size fitted Yuuri as precisely as Victor had envisioned, but as Victor was about to enter the stage, Yuuri mumbled, "Victor, um, maybe I should practice a bit before we dance together. I mean, I haven't touched the rink for months."

"Of course." How had Victor been so ignorant as not to realize that there wouldn't be any rink in the military base where Yuuri was employed? With a reassuring smile, Victor agreed, "Take your time. I'll be watching you here."

Yuuri began by bringing both hands in front of his chest, palms facing upwards. His gaze transitioned from those hands to the sky, as if he were setting the liberty of tiny magical creatures invisible to the naked eyes. Another smile tugged at Victor's mouth. Was Yuuri inspired by his magic show or was the skating man a dreamer at heart, just like Victor was?

For someone who had not practiced for such a long time, Yuuri glided quite smoothly. His spins were remarkably exceptional. He must have had lots and lots of practice since young, or this feat wouldn't have been possible. The flexibility of his body verified his acquaintanceship with ballet. However, even after several minutes had passed, Yuuri still made no attempt on jumps.

Victor's fingers drummed against his folded arms, but he lowered each hand next to his thigh as soon as he realized it. Reminding Yuuri that jumps often mattered more than other skating elements when it came to public entertainment would only make the skater all the more nervous. It was unlikely that Yuuri was unable to jump. Was Yuuri lacking confidence? Was he trying to let his body adapt to the ice more before attempting any difficult technique? Was Yuuri, on the contrary, confident that he'd be able to handle all the jumps he needed toward the end of his dance?

Eyes transfixed upon the skating figure, Victor watched with baited breath as Yuuri tried his first jump: a quad-double salchow combination. There wasn't enough rotation, and the skater had to support his landing with a hand to prevent him from falling on the ice and step out the landing. Victor gulped. 'It's all right. You can make amends later. Just don't panic.'

Alas, Yuuri's skating grew stiffer after that. He did manage to land his triple loop without any technical fault, but his formerly smooth spins looked rather … jagged, for lack of a better word. After an outside spread eagle and an Ina Bauer, he attempted a triple axel—again looking like a rigid board. Although he was saved by his decent sit spin after barely flunking his triple flip, he looked like someone who skated out of obligation rather than enjoyment. The expression of relief couldn't be more obvious as he ended his performance by standing at an oblique angle to the audience in a pose that somewhat reminded Victor of the fifth basic position in ballet: croisé derriere, albeit with some differences.

Victor was pulled from his trancelike state by the materialization of a figure in the inky shadows at the back of the stage: an old man in a gray coat. Yakov gestured at Yuuri with a withered but firm hand, using a crook of the fingers that signified "Come!"

The fine hair at the back of Victor's neck stood, electrified by his own anxiety. All was still, as if the fluctuation of the air had come to a kind of stasis. He cast a worried glance at Yuuri, but the younger man had already glided away in response to Yakov's calling, a resolution upon his countenance.

'Wait, Yakov, he was just warming up! That wasn't the actual dance he was prepared to show.' The words were at the tip of Victors tongue but refused to surface from his mouth. If only words possessed the power to bludgeon lips open!

As soon as Yuuri was within talking distance, he bowed to Yakov. This was how the people in his country saluted a person they respected.

"Your skills are not bad but not enough." Yakov intoned, "Not only were you too nervous, but you were also out of practice. This ice circus needs true athletes, not wannabes."

Fear turned to ice inside Victor's stomach. He was accustomed to Yakov's yells, but to hear his mentor speak with so many negations in a single occasion… Although the words were absent of derogative assessment toward Yuuri, the tone was firm. Was there no way for him and Yuuri to be together?

"No, Yakov, tell him that's not true. He has a bright future! He can polish his potentials by practicing!" The weight of Victor's tongue suddenly turned as heavy as lead. There were only so many words without real conviction one could utter in such a limited time. His eyes darted from his coach to Yuuri, fighting against the instinct to grab him and keep him in his tent for the rest of their lives.

"I understand. Thank you for allowing me to try." Yuuri bowed to Yakov once again, and then glided off the ice stage without sparing a second glance at Victor.

The disappointment was so acute that Victor was willing to do anything as long as he didn't have to witness this. A choked sob slipped from his throat, "Are you just going to walk away from me and pretend we've never met?"

Yuuri continued unlacing his skates without looking at Victor.

A part of Victor wanted to go there and shake Yuuri's shoulder and yell at him, yet deep down he knew this would solve nothing. Therefore, Victor breathed deeply, in and out, scavenging for the vestiges of his downfallen composure.

"I thought I wasn't the only one who felt there was something between us," Victor spoke with difficulty, exploding anger and overpowering sorrow rushing through his veins. "Now I see how wrong I was."

"Life's not a game, Victor! If a poodle isn't enough for you, just get another from a pet shop or something! I'm not here to become anyone's plaything…" In the beginning, the voice came out too sternly for a mild-mannered man like Yuuri, but it gradually evolved to a desperate plea in the end. Although Victor couldn't see Yuuri's expression from this angle, it was evident from the younger man's trembling body how unwilling he was to spout those words.

"I never once regarded you as a plaything!" This time Victor lost his self-restraint and shouted at full lash. It wouldn't do for his precious Yuuri to suffer in desolation. "I want you to stay by my side while standing on your own feet, as my rink mate and partner!"

Even as Victor articulated those words, they rang like a foreign language in his ears. He felt his heartbeat trip and everywhere around him turn cold. What future did they have? Even if he were to quit the troupe, the military barrack where Yuuri worked wouldn't admit him because of their nationality difference. It was then Victor heard a whimper, "What else can I do? How could someone so mediocre, so lame like me scrape for the smallest affection from the divinity known as Victor Nikiforov?"

For the first time, Victor noticed the tears trickling down Yuuri's chin. The younger man tried to hide his shaking, clammy hands by balling them into tight fists. Victor wanted, more than anything, to reach out to Yuuri, take the weeping man in his arms, pull him to his chest, and stroke that silky black hair. Nevertheless, he refrained from doing any of that, for he could guess that Yuuri would hate to appear weak and fragile in anyone's eyes.

There was a short pause during which Yuuri seemed to recollect himself before he confirmed, "It doesn't matter how good my potentials are if I can't unlock them in front of the audience. They aren't paying the tickets to see a failed performer slipping on ice because of nervousness. Besides, it's not like I will be any good here even without that issue. My heart was about to stop beating when I saw you expose yourself to mortal peril in every magic trick even though you were only doing it for the sake of entertainment!"

"If this is about the spikes—"

"They're made of retractable plastic—I know. And the guillotine can only drop that far because it is suspended by a rope that had been measured at a certain height from the gurney," Yuuri interrupted Victor, words strewn so rapidly together. Then his speed resumed its normal cadence but laced with exasperation. "No, Victor. I'm talking about the fire. If the trap door happens to malfunction one day, you'll be cremated alive!" Yuuri's anxious voice reached Victor's ears.

"No, the body bag is lined with flameproof material on the inside, and the temperature of our circus' mock-incinerator is about the same as that of standard household stoves despite what J.J. told the audience… But Yuuri, tell me, how do you know those other tricks?"

"What do you mean? Anyone can suspect that much."

An idea sprang in Victor's brain and his face brightened at once. Ecstatically, he squealed, "Yuuri, most people can't tell those tricks unless I explain it with sufficient demonstration. You've just inadvertently shown the talents suitable for a magician!"

While Yakov's mouth hung open and Yuuri's eyes squinted in disbelief, Victor wasted no time to drop on one knee before the very person he knew would be his one, true love. Kissing the back of Yuuri's hand, he proposed, each syllable of his partner's name weighing gold, "Katsuki Yuuri, would you be my apprentice?"

"Uh, I…" Yuuri immediately cast a worried glance at the ringleader.

Before the bewildered Yakov could say anything, Victor intercepted, "I won't be young forever, so I'll have to find someone to continue the practice long after I'm gone, right?"

"You've never taught anyone before! As if that's not enough, you only think about yourself; you'll never make a good teacher!" Yakov snapped.

"Well, everything must start from somewhere and this is a good point to start practicing."

"But, Victor," Yuuri tentatively said, "I've never been trained with sleight of hand or death-defying escape before. I can't claim to be talented in those areas."

"Then there's only one way to find out." Victor winked.

"Yakov, Yuuri has years of experience helping out at his parents' inn, so there's no need to doubt his hospitality skills when he hands out brochures or sells tickets and food. He won't skate solo in front of the audience until he feels comfortable skating in a group, like the Mafioso mob or the ghouls. That's how most performers start their career here anyway. You won't discriminate against anyone, right?"

"Do whatever you like!" The ringmaster threw both arms in the air and then disappeared behind the stage curtain.

"I upset your coach, didn't I?" Yuuri remarked, keeping his gaze and voice as steady as he could although his efforts were failing.

"Yakov never smiles and greets a new skater with open arms, but once we become rink mates, we'll all get along so well in one big family. You'll be fine."

"But…" Yuuri stumbled into silence with an obvious unease in his expression.

"That aside, Yuuri, when's my birthday?"

Yuuri's eyebrow arched. "It's forty-one days from now—the twenty-fifth day of the Month of Frost. Why?"

"You even knew that Yakov was my coach and the ringleader of this troupe. And you knew about my dog, too. Not to mention you anticipated my every move during our dances even though we've never practiced together." Victor paused, doing his best to arrange his tone to sound curious rather than derogatory, "How far have you studied me?"

Yuuri's mouth frantically opened and closed, while the rest of his face turned bright scarlet.

Yuuri's mouth frantically opened and closed, while the rest of his face turned bright scarlet. Finally, in a whispery voice, he answered, "I couldn't forget you since I first saw you skate. I was nine when your performance was broadcasted on television at the train station. I've been scraping every bit of newspaper articles I could find about you ever since."

"I daresay I'm better in live version than in those black-and-white mute television screens?" Victor gently tilted Yuuri's chin so that their gaze met.

"And louder," Yuuri answered, no trace of disappointment in his timbre. "You're far more emotional than I imagined you to be."

Victor grinned. "And hotter."

"And slier," Yuuri bantered, lips curving upwards.

"Shall we skate together?"

They started from the opposing sides of the stage, and then met mid-point. For the last fifteen years, Yuuri had been chasing Victor's shadow off the ice. From this point on, Victor would be the one pursuing Yuuri. In sequence with their side-by-side triple toe loops, their spins were also in unison. Despite his nervousness, Yuuri nodded when Victor asked his permission to try lifting him. While they wouldn't risk any twist lift, their mirror triple flip synchronized perfectly.

"Yuuri, try to spin with one leg extended back at waist-level as slow as you can."

The questioning look in Yuuri's eyes did not stop him from complying. Victor split jumped and bent low, pointing his head down. He made sure that his back stayed underneath the rear of Yuuri's elevated knee. As soon as Yuuri guessed what Victor was aiming for, he bent his knee down to wrap around Victor's waist and grabbed Victor's ankle. In response, Victor entwined his arm around Yuuri's thigh. His own pivoting leg facing Yuuri's, he raised his free leg next to his partner's head so that their spin was vertical and aligned. Thus, their signature move—the first step in their journey together as professional skaters—was brought to light.

In this manner, they kept switching between the male and female roles throughout the dance. They added paso doble traveling spins while their skates etched across the ice in harmony. Nevertheless, in reverse to their dance off the ice, it was Victor who presently dipped Yuuri. Fingers clutching his skating partner, he listened to their mingled panting and his own thundering heartbeat, loud against the thick silence enveloping the room. Yuuri looked so perfect, and Victor would do anything to claim that beauty as his own.

Victor shared a silent look with Yuuri, leaning forward until he was a breath away from the shorter man's lips. When Yuuri tilted his face toward Victor's with eyelashes fluttering and the amaranth specks on his cheeks darkening to crimson, Victor knew that Yuuri was granting him the permission formerly denied while Victor had still been under Victoria's pretext.

The moment their lips touched, Victor's entire being suddenly felt light as a feather, as if he might float away at any moment. He wondered if Yuuri felt it, too, because the dark-haired man gasped.

The next moment, Yuuri flopped on the ice floor, chest heaving and blushing to the tips of his ears. It was undoubtedly the first kiss in his life.

Unable to resist the adorable creature before him, Victor knelt. He kissed the tip of Yuuri's nose, and then continued to the little dip above Yuuri's lips all the while Yuuri flushed deeper and deeper.

"Oi, Victor, don't hog him alone! Bring him over here, and let's throw a party to welcome our newest member!" came J.J.'s voice from behind the stage.

Victor chuckled, stood up to his feet, and offered Yuuri a hand. "We'd better go there; else, they'll keep pestering us."

THE END

OMAKE

'Ah, the love of my life.'

Victor stared fondly at the sleeping angel beside him while fighting the urge to caress that endearing black hair. The sun had risen on the eastern horizon, and soon it would be time to break the tents and pack. The caravan was scheduled to leave the country that very afternoon. Still, he had no wish to leave this warm bed with his beloved Yuuri in it. Tormented between duty and desire, Victor opted for necessity first. He filled the glass on the nightstand with water from the jug.

When he finished drinking, Yuuri was rubbing his eyes, possibly roused by the sound of the pouring water if not the rustles of the sheets. Victor greeted, "Morning."

Yuuri blinked, looked befuddled, groaned about the headache from his hangover, and turned green like he was ready to vomit—all at once. Upon discovering Victor's bare body and his own partial nudity, he croaked, "Did we…"

With his signature flirty wink, Victor replied, "What do you think, darling?"

Yuuri threw up at that.

Victor suppressed a snicker as he prepared a clean towel for Yuuri. There would be time to explain that he nearly always slept in the nude and that Yuuri had passed out on his fifth bottle of vodka, after dancing half naked on Chris' pole last night, but that could wait until later. Much later.

OWARI

In case you're wondering, yeah, Victor and Yuuri danced the excerpts of Agape and Eros for their foxtrot and paso doble, respectively (but with different choreography). Yuuri's single skating toward the end is Yuuri on Ice whereas his pair skating with Victor is Stay Close to Me.

Want visual aids for scenes involving dances, skates, and magic tricks? Head over to archiveofourown dot org /works/9308468 (my work there contains hyperlinks to YouTube videos for those scenes).